Town of Salem: The Nature of Witchcraft
by Jammin Hyaku
Summary: A story of a small town corrupt with killers and murder, only a few innocents remain but their struggle to bring justice to the dead town members and earn back their freedom continues. Following a retired criminal investigator, John Hathorne, in the day, the stories is told from multiple perspectives showing each citizens outlook and view on the events taking place at night.
1. Background

Town of Salem

-The Nature of Witchcraft-

A short story by Justin Moore

Background;

Salem is a city on the north coast of Massachusetts above Boston. It's famous for its 1692 witch trials. Landmarks from this episode include the Witch House, the former home of a trial judge.

The **Salem witch trials** were a series of hearings and prosecutions of people accused of witchcraft in colonial Massachusetts between February 1692 and May 1693. The trials resulted in the executions of 20 people, most of them women, and with some of their families murdered after their persecution

The story often changes perspective or point of view from several different characters.

Changes are indicated by the symbol "* * *"


	2. Prologue

Prologue

February 22nd, 1692

The leaves and snow crinkled and cracked as we walked across them in our boots. Trees; free of all their leaves, the wind; soothing, but sweeping by creating an unsettling and ghostly mood to our afternoon walk. Nearly all the town, including myself, trampled through the snow that day; all of us covered in dark coats and clothing. It was a calm day out; the sky was cloudy however neither rain nor snow fell. It would have been quite the enjoyable day if we weren't here for such an event. I glanced to my right; four men carried a long box, followed by the rest of the town; friends, family, neighbors. The box was not quite four feet long; it was finely crafted and made of oak wood. Inside the box, lay the motionless body of a six-year-old child. Lying inside her coffin, we arrived at our destination. The burial site was deep in the forest, where the majority of the town was buried after their passing. Two men with shovels began to dig a deep enough hole for the coffin; however the rather small size made it rather easy for them compared to most. Words were spoken, we bowed our heads for a moment of silence to say our final goodbyes to the child we once knew, and then slowly. She was lowered down into the ground; and dirt concealed her inside her final resting place.

What I couldn't understand, what I really wanted to know, was how did this happen? Six year olds don't simply die of old age. The sheriff and mayor of town knew something they didn't want us to panic over; however every single one of us could tell exactly what was going on. This young girl did not simply pass on in her sleep, she was murdered. The question was; who murders a small child? Little did we see coming, this was only the first of the crimes to be committed.


	3. Chapter 1: May 7th, 1692

Chapter I

May 7th, 1692

Several months went by since the murder of the young child. Every now and then an old friend would be found dead in their house, murdered in their sleep. It became more common but every time it was still a shock. Our once flourishing and beautiful town had significantly shrunken over the span of only two months, wether it was from crime or people moving away out of fear; the population had gone down at least fifty-percent. It was obvious that those of important roles were targeted first, police members and leaders were hunted in their sleep; this led many of us into secrecy. It was unsafe to share personal information with even your closest friends; for those of an important occupation often died first.

The majority of the oldest town residents had been dealt with; and all that remained were people who had only lived in Salem a shorter amount of time; more likely to just flee at any sight of danger. I myself have only taken up residence in this area a little over a year and a half, although I had no intention of leaving – I had nowhere else to go. The town struggled to come to conclusions and figure out who had been committing the crimes, several people had been hung due to suspicions, however, the killing never stopped. It slowed down for a while some weeks ago, after an old friend, William Phips, was hung. It was a retched sight, watching one of your proclaimed to be friends hang from a rope; dangling in the wind. But when this town has their eyes set on someone, they get them.

I took the last swig of beer from my glass and left my payment on the tablet, as well as a tip for the waitress, then headed for the door. I waved with a slight smile as I glanced in the bar keepers direction, which was a returned with a hefty "See'ya later John!" and I exited the tavern. It was a chilly day, as if nature were still getting over its cold that is winter. The snow still existed in patches every now and then but had faded away considerably, revealing the dried leaves and grass beneath. Salem wasn't a very large town, mostly just filled with vacant houses and a few business locations. It was easy to find you way home, as the distance was never far. As I passed through town square I stopped for a moment, glancing up at the noose at which so many people had hung from; remembering all the trials I have attended so far. I have witnessed five people so far be hung for different crimes, who knows how many of them were actually guilty.

Lost in thought, I was startled by a comforting hand being placed on my shoulder. "What's on your mind, Hathorne?" I turned around and recognized a man who lives a little down my street, always chipper and the first to spark a conversation. "Good 'Evening Bishop," I replied in a somewhat monotone voice. "Not much, just brings back memories; you know?" Edward Bishop was his name, never a dear friend of mind but he was the kind of guy who was always kind and outgoing; able to make friends anywhere he went. He stuffed his hands back in his coat pockets and shifted his gaze from myself to the hanging rope in the centre of the town. "Very true, just don't get yourself all worked up about it friend, the past is the past. We'll catch whoever's doin all this soon'enough." I didn't know much about Bishop, I knew enough to know what he was like but asking personal questions only seemed suspicious when such events were taking place. He stood roughly the same height as me, perhaps a few inches shorter, around five foot five. He had short blonde hair and was quite strong, and quite the ladies' man. "I certainly hope you're right." I proclaimed, "However, I must be off." We exchanged our goodbyes and went our separate ways. The town was divided into different sections, made up of six main streets that all lead back to town square, and then several smaller roads mostly consisting of little shops and businesses.

I continued across town square and walked down my street, turned about halfway down and walked up the lawn to my front door. The streets weren't crowded with houses, giving each lots of lawn space, and most of the houses on my street were empty; except for a few. I inserted my key into the lock and latched the door behind me, took off my boots and coat, and walked over to a small tablet placed in the corner of the room. Houses in Salem typically weren't big, made of wood with their triangular rooftops; they consisted of only a handful of rooms and windows. They usually included a main floor with a small kitchen, bathroom, and living room; as well as a bedroom or two on the second floor.

I sat down at the small wooden table and scattered through several papers spread out across the tabletop. I pulled a paper from a stack, it was a list I had made with the names of all of the town citizens several months ago; crossing off the names of those who had fled or currently lay in the ground. Only fifteen names remained on the list, including my own; John Hathorne. Our town was so small to begin with; what was to become of it? The population generally deteriorated over the past few months, and I was determined to figure out the cause. Somebody was committing the crimes, somebody has the blood on their hands; and they're doing a damn good job of hiding it too. I flipped to another page, the paper was nearly blank except for a two words I rather quickly scribbled across the top, ready:

"My Will:"

I had indeed been scared that one day I will not wake up in the morning, becoming another victim of this mad man's game. But I just couldn't think of what to write, I had no family and nor could I trust any of my friends. I was simply a middle aged man who wanted peace in life; but I needed to earn that peace – it had to be earned. I was coming up on my forty seventh birthday, my hair was light brown but greying; my eyes matched, being a dark brown, and I was often dressed in dark garments with a pilgrim hat when I walked around town. I spent most my waking hours making notes, I am a retired police man and city worker who investigated crimes committed in the town. The papers, cluttered across my table, were all notes and clues I had been putting together about what people have said, such as what they are doing, where they are going, how they act, anything that could lead me to solving this investigation. Not many police workers still lived inside the town, I feel the only reason I am alive today is because I was never formally an investigator here. The sun was going down outside the small window, I jotted notes and read - and re-read - previous documents I had already formed. Hours past and, around one o clock in the morning, I fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 2: Family Reunion

Chapter II

Family Reunion

The sky was dark, glistening with stars all around, I hummed as I strolled merely down the street. I felt an unusual amount of joy, however I could not for the life of me remember why. In fact, it completely escaped my mind why I was even outdoors so late at night; it's dangerous at this hour. Realizing the bags of groceries in my hands, I casually reminded myself I was on my way home after a pleasant late night trip to the store. I toddled down the pathway to my home, and, retrieving my key from my pocket; opened the door with only slight difficulty. It's always getting jammed, I keep reminding myself to get it fixed however I just simply never have the time… nor do I remember.

Walking inside I closed the door tightly behind me, and made sure to lock it to feel safer. I came up to the counter to set down my groceries, when I suddenly realized there were not any bags in my hand. Had I dropped them? Or did I never have them to begin with? Silly me, I thought, the market isn't even open this late. I walked over to the coat rack, originally intending to take off my coat, when I decided it was rather chilly in here and decided to keep it on anyway. Next to the coat rack I thoroughly inspected a picture hanging on the wall of my sister and I at the park. She was much shorter than me, and much more outgoing. At least, however, she had serious anger problems. Bursting out in rage at any given time, but I haven't seen her in a long time. Why was that? I couldn't remember, in fact I couldn't even remember her face anymore.

A glanced around some more and saw all my candles and ceremonial rugs and objects spread out across the room. Skulls, necklaces, locks of hair, all that kinds of stuff. Gee, I do some awfully weird things in my spare time. Quiet footsteps as well as mild chatter coming from upstairs broke my thought, perhaps it was my sister? I walked up the stairs quietly in the bitter silence of the night, and came to a small hallway at the top of the stairs that led to two separate bedrooms. I walked over to the one on the side of the house of which I heard the footsteps, and opened the door slowly. In the middle of the room, surrounded by different objects of mystery and lit candles that flickered in the dark, sat a women with long, dark, curly hair that came down to her waist. She looked nothing like the women I was standing with in the picture. There was also no one else in the room, who was she talking to? She opened her eyes, revealing two deep green emeralds, and instantly her calm state was lost; she screamed out of horror. Why had she screamed? Was I disturbing her? She must be insane, I concluded.

"What do you want? Why are you here, please, don't hurt me!" she yelled, I felt upset that this women was in my house and felt like she had the right to yell at me. "Why am I here? What are you doing in my house is the real question. Where's my sister?" I replied.

"Sister? I don't know what you are talking about! I have lived here the past year, no one else, please, you don't want to do this!"

Do what? I didn't quite understand that last bit.

"MY SISTER! WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HER?"

I screamed in retaliation, in case she didn't hear me properly the first time. She broke out in tears and lay across the floor. The lack of answers I was getting started to enrage me, I was already confused enough. I squeezed my fists and realized I was tightening my grasp on some object, what could this new found object be? I looked down at it for a moment and confirmed it was indeed a knife, very carefully sharpened too. Where did I get that? Or have I been holding it this entire time, without noticing?

"Please don't hurt me, I haven't done anything I swear, I don't know where you sister is!"

Suddenly it crossed my mind that the reason I hadn't seen my sister in so long, nor could I remember her face, was because she was not even alive any longer.

"MY SISTER, S-I-S-T-E-R, WHERE IS SHE WHERE IS SHE WHERE IS SHE!" I'm so angry! Why does no one ever know what im talking about? Could I make myself any clearer? No! I noticed I was flailing my arms around in a fit, why did this lady have to be working me up so much? She cried out in terror, tears running down her cheeks. This doesn't help answer me, why is she so afraid? I stood there a moment in silence and still no answer, did I ask that or think it? I couldn't recall. Why was she so afraid? More silence. Where's my sister? Who are you? Nothing. I could feel my face turn red, what rage I was feeling! Who does she think she is? To break into my home and anger me so! Stepping closer, she curled up even more. What are you so afraid of? Then I considered the possibility, was she the one who killed my sister? That would explain so much, especially the knife in my hand.

That was it, concluding that she was definitely the killer of my dear sister, I lifted my right arm high up and drove the blade deep into her soft flesh. She screamed in pain and agony, and blood covered the floor. A few stabs later and the screaming stopped, although it made an awful mess of my arms and clothing. Even in death she was angering me. "What are you afraid of?" I calmly asked, thinking perhaps I never asked that out loud. No answer. I sat on my bed a moment and glanced across the room at my trinkets. On the bedside table I found a notebook entitled; "Ann Hibbins Diary." Hibbins? That isn't my name, and this diary isn't mine either. Upon further inspection I found that most of these trinkets didn't belong to me; perhaps this wasn't my house after all? I came over to the open bedroom window that let in a cool breeze and the glow of moon. Checking my hands, I noticed there was no longer a knife in them. Did I drop it? Or did I never have it to begin with? I climbed down the window and set foot on the cold, earthy ground once more. A thought crossed my mind, if this was not my house, then who was the girl in the photograph? Perhaps I never had a sister to begin with, either. Time to head home I thought to myself, and I continued to hum myself a song as I continued walking down the street in the moonlight.


	5. Chapter 3: A Devil, I Swear

Chapter III

A Devil, I Swear

The sun began to peak in through the window as night came to an end. I awoke at dawn, feeling somewhat stiff, still seated in my chair with my head resting against the table. I stood up and stretched my arms out far, one to many nights I have awoken next to this desk. Always forgetting to go to bed before falling asleep, I gave up trying to remember. Wherever I slept is wherever I slept. Walking over to the small kitchen I opened the fridge and poured myself a glass of milk. I made a sandwich for breakfast, and then continued on with the daily process of changing my clothes and getting ready for the day. Placing my hat on my head; I left my house and locked the door behind me. It was a warmer day, snow lay at the end of my garden in dried up patches full of dirt. The sun was shining down brightly on Salem now, and it reminded me of what a beautiful town it could be. It was May 8th, a lovely spring day. After taking a moment to breathe in the fresh air and absorb the positive aura the morning brings to a person, I continued on my way. As I started walking down the street I saw a small group of people chatting a few doors down, curious about what the subject of conversation could be, I decided to approach them. Upon entering the small social group I was able to name the four friends I had come across; there was Mary Eastey, a sweet girl in her mid-twenties, Abigail Hobbs, a married lady who would bake goods for all the town and often greeted me in the morning as I passed by her place of residence, Samuel Parris, a broad and somewhat intimidating of a man, however kind at heart, and James Russel; whom I considered somewhat more of a friend but still couldn't trust any more than anyone else until these murders came to an end. He was also the bar keeper at the local tavern I often visited, we would chat for long hours several nights of the week just trying to forget the madness that arose.

"Good morning everyone" Everyone turned to see me as I greeted them, "Mornin' John." Russel replied, in a friendly tone but had a hint of some other emotion in it.

"Is something the matter? Has something happened? I asked, for the group seemed rather depressed and showed no smiles, nor gave any greetings like their usual selves would have.

"Ann Hibbins" Mary Eastey spoke out,

"She died last night, found murdered in her home." Samuel added, interrupting Mary.

"Quite a gruesome seen indeed… not for those uneasy at the stomach that's for sure." James Russel said.

Just then another man came up to us, addressed everyone formally by their last name, and asked if we had heard of the events that occurred last night. His name was John Proctor, it was because of our similar first name that others often addressed us by our surnames. He was tall, roughly six feet, and worked as a local farmer in the fields northwest of Salem. Mary Eastey owned a small market that often sold his vegetables; they were always fresh and when made into a dish, are quite delectable.

"People have been meeting at town hall seeking answers; I believe it would be best for us to join them." He proclaimed, "Abigail, perhaps you should inform your husband of the matter and rejoin us there."

She nodded in agreement and set off to retrieve him.

"Let us be off then." Proctor said, and we followed him a short distance to the town hall. It was right in front of town square, an open courtyard; town hall was a large building that was also the church. It was massive compared to other establishments in the town, made out of solid grey stones, and was decorated with large banners and glass windows. Nine other people had gathered out front of the building, including the four us it made thirteen. The only two absent were Abigail and her husband, William Hobbs, who both joined us some short time after.

Edward Bishop walked several steps up to the entrance of town hall, putting himself a little above everybody else, and attempted to calm people down. The chatter and gossip came to a subtle end and vanished, Edward was good at taking charge. He often filled in as public speaker after the Mayor of Salem passed on some three weeks ago.

"Quiet friends, settle down please. I am as rightfully upset about Ann Hibbin's passing as the next person, but chaos will help little and accomplish none. I don't want any pointing fingers, however if anyone has anything to say on the matter, that could contribute to the investigation of this crime I ask you please speak up." Bishop spoke as a leader, I believe he truly just wanted justice, however I could not be deceived. For all I knew he could have been the cold blooded murderer trying to act innocent.

Several men began shouting out several curses towards whoever was behind this mayhem, and the ladies broke out in gossip about who they suspected or believed to be guilty. Edward Bishop once more attempted to settle down the audience, and in between the fits of anger Thomas Danforth stood up and quietly waited for silence, appearing to have something to say.

"I realize we are not here to put blame on others and point fingers, your honor" Danforth spoke as if addressing a judge in the courtroom, "However, might I say I do believe Lydia Dustin to be involved in whatever disasters have and will happen to this town!"

He pointed in the direction of Lydia, and the whole town turned to look at her. Awestruck by this sudden blame, she denied she had anything to do with it. She was an attractive young woman, twenty-two perhaps, with long brown hair and bright blue eyes.

"And just what evidence do you have to support this, Mr. Danforth?" Bishop asked, curious as to where these suspicions were coming from. Lydia Dustin was not someone I encountered often, however I did know that she was a waitress at the tavern who often helped out with the church on weekends.

"Your honor, indeed I have had my suspicions quite some time now of Ms. Dustin, who has been quite quick to put the blame on others and rather pushy to hang men who have yet proved to be any part of the murders! Thusly, early this morning I encountered Ms. Dustin and stopped her for some questioning, and if I may add, your honor, I do believe she is quite suspicious!" Thomas concluded, although the town wasn't exactly convinced.

"Mr. Danforth, we cannot simply hang someone because you have a feeling they may perhaps be evil." Bishop started, but was cut off-

"What if Thomas is the killer, trying to turn us all against each other!" Someone shouted out,

"I think he's guilty! Wanting to blame poor Lydia just because of a gut-feeling!" Another person yelled.

"Calm, calm! Please, settle down friends!" Bishop tried once more, however this time people seemed not to listen. Everyone was too fed up with their fears of death, and wanted this fear to simply go away. Several people grabbed Thomas and he tried to fight them off, quite shocked at how poorly this discussion had gone. The unjustly town dragged to Danforth up to the stand in the center of town square where so many people had been hung, I was afraid this would end badly for Thomas but trying to argue it would only make myself look guilty in the town's eyes. The noose was placed around Danforth's neck and his hands were tied. Standing atop a chair that currently was the only thing keeping him from choking to death, he tried to argue Lydia's guilty, screaming the town should at least investigate. Lydia began to cry out she hadn't done anything, making her look so innocent.

"All in favor of death say Aya!" was anonymously yelled

"Lynch him!"

"Let the madness be over!"

"He's a devil!"

The town shouted, several people yelled 'Aye' and silence fell over the town,

"I haven't done anything I swear it! This town is doomed if you don't believe me, please!" Thomas Danforth yelled out, but it was too late. Someone had kicked the chair over, and he dangled his arguments came to an end.


	6. Chapter 4: Dirty Trickery

Chapter IV

Dirty Trickery

Dusk arrived and I finished my preparations for the night. Today was close, to close, but I won't let that happen again. I stuffed some heavy old boots, supplies, documents and tools into a bag which I carried over my shoulder and waited until the clock hit ten 'o'clock pm. When it rolled around, a gentle tapping on the back window of my house told me it was time to move. I approached that back of my house, which had no back door, and unlatched the window that stood about four feet off the ground. I climbed through the window, and my feet landed on the cool wet grass. Next to me was a man leaning against the back of house, the cause of the tapping, it was hard to specify his details in the darkness but I knew who he was.

"You ready? We have a busy night ahead of us. We have been requested to pay a special visit to a certain Sarah Good."

Deodat Lawson was his name; thirty four years old and he liked to consider himself quite the player. He got a certain thrill out of this; although I suppose I did too – but the paycheque is what made it all worthwhile.

"Don't worry Lawson, we've got it all planned out."

Wearing light weight small shoes, I toddled off skimpily to the roads in a chipper mood when Lawson grabbed my wrist and held me back.

"One last thing, before we continue, the boss has asked me to inform you that today was to close, Ms. Dustin. Don't let it happen again, or you'll be our next target before the town can even get to you." He stated this rather clearly, in a deep voice unlike his usual care-free tone.

"Don't worry about it, crying gets you out of anything you know. Can't believe they actually hung the man just for calling me out! What a laugh."

And we continued down the grassy field to the road

"Well we can't have you out roaming the streets drunk as a pig, now can we! Especially when it's this dangerous, hey, for all I know, you could be the killer!" I shouted, however not in an angry tone. I pushed the man in the cell and closed the bars tightly behind, at the very least, spending the night in jail will keep this man off the streets.

"I ain't done nothin, ya here! C'mon Parris, lemme go."

He stuttered a lot and could barely hold a sentence, he was obviously drunk; but I guess it would be hard to not get drunk as a man with access to so much alcohol. I decided to bring him in for the night when he got into an argument with another drunken man down at his bar,

"I don't think that's the best thing for you or the town, my friend." I replied, "Besides, it'll give me a chance to ask you a few questions. I get the feeling Mr. Danforth wasn't actually the murderer we've been searching for."

After having locked the cell I put the keys back in my pocket and sat down at a table only several feet from my prisoner, James Russel.

"Do I look like a murderer to you, Samuel?" Russel asked, but as far as I was concerned, a serial killer could look however they wanted.

When we arrived at Ms. Sarah Good's house, Deodat Lawson picked the lock and walked inside as silently as possible. I stood guard outside the house and prepared for my turn. Shuffling my bag off my shoulder, I retrieved the heavy boots and put them on. On the way here, we had made sure to carefully step on grass, rocks, and other surfaces that wouldn't leave tracks; leaving no connections to our being here. However, right now was the opposite of that. I located my victim's house, which I could see from the house currently, occupied by Mr. Lawson, and figured I had mine as well get started while I can still keep lookout. Casually, I walked down the dirt road to my destination, crushing the ground beneath me with enough pressure to leave distinguishable footprints that weren't too obvious. The footprints led right from Sarah Good's house to the home before me.

I heard the rattling of a window and the shuffling of my companion and turned to try and spot him in the dark. After locking the door once more from the inside, he left through a window. I knew he couldn't follow me, there was no grass to walk on to prevent making tracks. Faintly I could see him holding something in his hand, the evidence I needed, and he gestured to throw it to me. It hurled threw the air at a great speed, the silence of the night was so quiet I had almost forgotten what hearing was like, knowing the object is dangerous; I quickly grabbed my bag and held it out to catch the evidence. It was difficult in the darkness; however I manage to catch the bloodied knife with the exterior of the now blood-stained bag. I held the knife in one hand, making sure not to get blood on anything else, and continued to pick the lock on the door and make my way inside.

My task was simple; I was to frame this man for a crime he hadn't committed. It worked out only too well that we could kill, not be caught for it, as well as have another citizen be blamed. The 'Mafia' simply wanted to be rid of all the do-gooders and threats, and I only wanted my payment.

After sneaking inside, I walked over to the kitchen and left the knife in the sink. I poured some water on it to appear like it had been somewhat cleaned, but enough blood to confirm it was the murder weapon. Having dealt with that, I retrieved some skillfully crafted forged documents and papers from my bag. I scattered these across the room in discreet locations, as if they were trying to be hidden, but still to be found after a few minutes search. The documents contained forged letters with the victim's signature making him appear guilty for several crimes; pictures and plans to attack Ms. Good, notes, anything to make him appear suspicious.

I was just finishing up when suddenly I heard the door open, scared and frightened; I nearly dived to the closest hiding place; under a table. I was terribly unprepared for this, hadn't Mr. Parris already gone to bed? Apparently not, but what was he doing out so late? The lights were still off and I glared from under the table as he took off his coat and boots, yawned, and walked up the stairs to prepare himself for bed. As quick as a fox I grabbed my bag and hurried to get out of their; if he had turned the light on upon his arrival home I would have been done for. The door had already been locked so I found the nearest window, unlatched it, and snuck out into the silence of night once more.

Half an hour later I had returned home, contemplating how events may turn out the following day I relaxed in front of a small fireplace in my home, everything had still gone according to plan. I wasn't seen, nor did Parris notice the evidence I placed around the house. The fire crackled and burned brightly, and with a gentle toss I threw the blood-stained backpack atop the flame. Feeling as safe as could be, I dozed off some time later.


	7. Chapter 5: Evidence beyond Guilt

Chapter V

Evidence beyond Guilt

'Ann Hibbins Diary' the book was entitled. Found atop a shelf in the mess of investigation studies inside of Sir Thomas Danforth's home; yesterday's victim. It was now May 8th, Sarah Good was discovered lifeless in her home this morning by one of her friends, Mary Eastey, I believe. I decided I should do some investigating, I doubted the guilt of Danforth; so I decided to confirm my suspicions. Inside his home I found several documents such as my own; notes of towns people, several of whom he had interrogated quite harshly. He had suspected Lydia Dustin; however so far nothing he had to support this gave any evidence besides a hunch. It interested me how he had come into possession of the Ann Hibbins diary, which caused me to conclude he must have worked for the police and was a part of the investigation or cleanup of her murder.

Knowing full well it was a sin to read someone else's personal thoughts, it was the possibility this diary held answers which would save lives. However, it was mostly just full of conversations and notes Ms. Hibbins appeared to have with other citizens, although the dates of the conversations did not add up as they had been long since dead. Perhaps Ms. Hibbins believed she could speak with the dead, but this could not be reliable – nor did it give any evidence.

I concluded my research in Danforth's home, and then decided to investigate the scene of the most recent murder. It was just after dawn, a blissful morning with spring in the air. I arrived at the scene, a rather gory scene at that, and had to hold my sleeve over my face to keep the smell of blood out. It was terrible to look at, a beautiful young lady lay motionless in her bed, slain in her slumber. Her throat had been slit, and several stab wounds throughout the torso created a now drying stream of blood which flowed onto the sheets, down the bedposts, and dripped silently onto the floor. Her right arm dangled over the side of the bed, she obviously didn't have any chance to let out a scream as she was murdered before she could even realize.

I needed a trace, a clue, where was the murder weapon? Although this death was gruesome it was much cleaner than that of Ann Hibbins, which appeared to be fits of rage all focused towards one victim. This was simple one blow across the neck and two or three jabs to the torso. I surveyed the perimeter, trying to find anything that could like me to the killer; however, nothing was to be found. I opened the bedroom closet to find several dresses, some of which quite revealing, and a mess of boxes at my feet. Although nothing particularly useless was found in the boxes, there were several stacks of bills tucked away. Where did she get that money? It was clear though that the murderer didn't intend to stay long, as other than the dead women in the middle of the room, everything else was in order.

I exited the household and was just about to return home when something caught my eye. Footprints, from large men's sized boots left tracks leading right from Sarah Good's doorstep. Several other faint prints could be found in the dirt around, however none were as fresh as these. Following the footprints, I found myself at the front door of a similar house just down the street. Written on the mailbox outside was 'Parris' indicating this home belonged to Mr. Samuel Parris. I hadn't seen Samuel this morning yet, and it was quite possible he still lay sleeping in bed. The man often slept in quite late. I let myself in, a thought I would take a gander around before waking Parris. I snooped through shelfs, drawers, nosing my way around – obviously without permission; however, breaking a few rules is well worth the risk to find a killer. After all, a serial killer isn't going to openly admit it.

Nothing really suspicious came up until I came across a document that peaked my interest. It was a sheet of notes, a series of jot-notes following Ms. Goods daily routines. Places she had been, people she had talked to, gossip, even a remarkable number of nights she spent absent from her home was listed. I continued my search, and in the kitchen I discovered something that seemed quite obvious. In the sink, among other cutlery, was a dirtied knife – incredibly sharp. The dried out material that left remnants on the blade was a deep red, upon touching it, left a liquid red mark on my fingers. It was clearly blood. I could tell it had been somewhat attempted to be cleaned, and judging by the lack of meats or bones in the kitchen it was unlikely animal blood. It was also in a similar drying state as that of which still covered the floor of Ms. Goods' bedroom.

Furthermore, I came across a small envelope thrown in a stack of books and papers next to a bookshelf; which if overlooked would have kept me on the defensive side of Samuel Parris' guilt. Inside the envelope was a small piece of paper; blank on both sides, however, on the inside of the envelope I could make out a quick and to the point message, which read:

"Jonathan Corwin. You know what to do."

The name of a man murdered some five weeks ago, it was this that tipped me over the edge.

Few hours later, I had relayed this information to several other towns members down at town square where the bulk of our population could often be found gossiping away after another of us had passed on. Several people were eager to get justice and hang Mr. Parris, others couldn't believe a man they thought to be a dear friend and a fellow seeker of justice could be a cold blooded killer.

Within the Hour, Samuel had been made aware of his trial and stood before us to be judged; however not without struggle. It took two strong men to drag him to his place, for he could have taken one on himself. He insisted upon his innocence the entire way and continued to even now.

"I haven't done a thing! I don't know anything about the blood, or those documents! I work for the police, I swear! I spent the majority of the night at the jail house with Russel! You will vouch for me, won't you James?" He argued, however James Russel claimed he had been drunk out of his mind for the entirety of the night; however he did wake up lying in a jail cell.

"Likely story!"

"Don't believe a word the man says! Tis' the devil pleading for his innocence!"

The town was cruel, however under the circumstances I, myself decided to blame guilty. Even Edward Bishop couldn't deny he was rather suspicious, although he didn't vote in the trial. Arguing and flailing, Samuel Parris was decided guilty by the majority of the town, getting eight votes for hanging.

"It isn't fair. I haven't done anything wrong, I promise you, and when the next man dies tonight you will know I am right." He claimed, and with that, he hung.


	8. Chapter 6: A Job worth Doing

Chapter VI

A Job worth Doing

The wind hollowed and crashed as it hurled itself upon the shutters of my house. The windows creaked as it beat against them, it was an uneasy night; however, not a single drop of rain was seen hitting the ground. The crescent moon hung high up in the sky. I sat in a chair with my back to the window while facing a wall. On that wall, a single picture was hung from a pin that held it. It was a picture of a man with short blond hair. Edward Bishop, oh how I hated that name. He was a murderer, a criminal, however never has he accepted any consequences or punishment for it. He had murdered my brother, Cotton Proctor, a month ago, in cold blood. Shot him right between the eyes. But was he punished? No, he received praise. Why can one man choose to take put justice in his own hands and get away with it? My brother was innocent, he never would have hurt a fly; I know it. And I'm going to get the town to agree, somehow, even if it costs my life to make them see the truth.

Laid out on my desks and tables were files, documents, any of the teeniest shreds of evidence that could be used against him. Any remotely suspicious phrases or words he used during our conversations when he would occasionally walk past my farm where I grew vegetables. It would be simple enough to just kill him, however, that wouldn't get me the revenge I wanted. Murdering him would only make myself look guilty and in the wrong, never would the town see him for what he is. Fighting for justice? No one upholds the right to kill and get away with it. I'll make sure of that.

It was roughly nine P.M; William was upstairs getting ready for bed as I sat next to the Livingroom window. It was dark outside; I could feel the cool wind on my fingertips through the glass. I sat in darkness, the only light being that of the moon that shone across our town. Our house was just north-east of town square, giving me a perfect view of daily interactions and activity from the comfort of my own home. I sat on a wooden stool with binoculars pressed against my eyes; I waited; trying to catch sight of anything suspicious. I wasn't a law enforcer, I couldn't solve crimes like another could; but perhaps I could catch them in the act.

Just then, I saw a faint movement across the square. It was a human who I believed to be a man named Deodat Lawson. But what had he been doing out so late?

"Are you coming to bed soon, honey?" William asked from atop the stairs.

"Soon, darling, I am just going to stay up a little longer." I replied, and the quiet footsteps from above indicated he had gone to sleep. My eyes turned back to the window, where I was just able to catch a glimpse of Mr. Lawson as he entered a house some hundred feet from mine; just off the south-west end of town square.

I knew that house however, and it did not belong to Mr. Lawson. I had often gone there to chat and deliver cookies and such with my friend Mary Eastey. So what exactly had he been doing at her house? I barely had time to contemplate it when I heard a large crash and a faint scream coming from one of the neighbouring houses. It was a man's voice, however it was not Williams. It startled me to the point where I had dropped the binoculars onto my lap; it felt as if my heart had skipped a beat from this sudden noise in the deathly silence of night. I ran up the stairs to tell my husband, in fear that another one of our beloved friends had been hurt.

"William! William, did you hear that shouting?"

"Indeed, Abigail." He said as he ran past me down the stairs; in the process of pulling a jacket overtop his pajamas.

"You don't plan on going out there do you? It could be dangerous!" I pleaded; I didn't want to lose anyone else. I wished this could end.

"It sounded like Mr. Hathorne next door, he may need my help, if there is anything I can do to save someone's life I must at least try, Abigail. There isn't much time, would you hand me my supplies?" he struggled to put on his shoes in the dark while slowly making his way to the front door. I retrieved his supply bag from the closet, containing many useful tools for different situations in first-aid. Upon claiming the bag from my hands, he rushed out the door in a hurry.

After reassuring my wife that I would return home safely, I rushed out of the house and over the neighbouring house of John Hathorne where the scream had originated from. Arriving at the door I knocked on it loudly,

"Hathorne, are you there?" silence was my answer and a few moments later I tried again,

"Hathorne are you alright, we heard a scream coming from your home, answer me!" nothing followed.

I found that the door had been left unlocked; which was quite to my shocking – John knew quite well the importance of locking your door in our town as of late. I burst into the house to discover my friend lay bleeding across the dining room floor. Two wounds from a knife had struck his torso, however he still breathed; although only slightly. Loss of blood would soon be the death of him, I immediately tossed my supply bag down onto the floor and began any means necessary of saving this man's life.

"Who is it? Who's there?" slipped silently from his lips

"It's me, William Hobbs, John. Save your breath, you're going to need it. You have just been attacked."

It then occurred to me that the killer could very well have still been around; though that did not seem to be the case. I finished first-aid, and any immediate damage had been dealt with. I then proceeded to carry John back to my house, in case the murderer had decided to return, where I found the bright lights on and my wife awaiting my return.

I treated Hathorne once more, and lay him to sleep in our guest room; he had been severely wounded, the attacker obviously intended the wounds to be fatal, however, he was not going to die from this. Tonight, I saved a life.


	9. Chapter 7: What in Tarnation

Chapter VII

What in Tarnation

I awoke in a gasp for air, a sharp pain swept over my body which felt very much so unpleasant. My joints were stiff and I found it hard to move, after some struggle I managed to prop myself up against the bed frame. I noticed my shirt had been removed and several bandages covered my body; I was also unfamiliar with the place of residence I was currently staying in; it was not my own. I began to recall the events of last night; I had been wounded quite devastatingly yet by some miracle there had still been breath in my lungs and my heart continued to beat.

A familiar face walked in through the bedroom door that I recognized as Abigail Hobbs, carrying a tray of assorted goods and a glass of milk.

"Oh! Your awake, Mr. Hathorne, how did you sleep? I shall retrieve my husband." She said in a soft and kind voice, seeming relieved to see me still breathing.

"Please, call me John my dear." She placed the tray of baked goods on the bedside table and left to tell her husband who I knew to be William Hobbs. I sampled one of the biscuits, which was quite delicious, and slowly sipped the milk; however I did not feel I could stomach much more.

A short moment later William entered the room, accompanied by Abigail.

"I see your awake, rough night; wasn't it Hathorne?"

I nodded in agreement, feeling the aches and pain all over.

"I feel I must ask, John, did you happen to see the face of your attacker?"

"Sadly I did not. I had been awake at my desk working thoroughly on this investigation as I often do when suddenly I heard the floor creaking behind me; I turned around to lay eyes on the intruder when I found a knife being jabbed at me. The lights were off and I hadn't time to see their face before that sharp blade pierced my soul."

"Tis a shame. The crash of your desk falling over was loud, loud enough for us to hear the next door over. You are very lucky we had still been awake, otherwise we would be grieving another death this morning." With that he changed my bandages once more and they exited the room.

I was able to walk, if only slowly and with the aid of leaning on walls. I walked down the stairs, not without struggle, where I once again met up with William; who informed me that Abigail had gone to pay visit to Ms. Mary Eastey. After preparing for the day and a good amount of chatter in front of the campfire; we both left the house to see what else was going on this morning. It was now May 9th, of the year 1692. It was dark and cloudy, as if a storm were coming; the air was warm but it was humid with a cool breeze.

Outside of the house we saw the rest of the town gathered in town square. We saw Abigail and decided to join her; no doubt more gossip was going on. However; the town could not afford to simply keep punishing people without evidence.

"Last night I was attacked by the devilish witch who reins havoc on our town! Damn the rotten soul who thought they could get the better of me!" Mary Eastey shouted out, showing off a vest which had a single gun shot in it over her chest. The town hollered in agreement, she had made quite the role model of herself, being portrayed as the one who the witch could not kill.

"I was also attacked last night by the killer. If it were not for a certain friend I would be dead in the ground right now." I said to the town, today everyone was more calm and collected, obviously they had realized the importance of solving this crime and put behind them the fears of murder.

"Well out with it, who were behind the attacks you two? Obviously we are dealing with more than one murderer here, so surely someone must have caught a glimpse of the killer." Said Edward Bishop.

"Unfortunately I was not in a position where I was able to see my attackers face." I proclaimed, "So I am unaware of who tried to kill me."

"Flummery." Said Lydia Dustin,

"Actually, friends, I believe I may have something that could be of use." Abigail spoke up, "Last night, I was sitting in my living room next to the window, watching the towns late night activity as I have done out of caution the past while now, when I witnessed Mr. Deodat Lawson enter Mary's house! I did not know why, however it only makes sense now that he must have been her attacker, for no other being was seen entering or leaving that household last night!"

"Preposterous!" Shouted Lawson, "the woman lies!"

"The intruder was of his masculine build." Eastey added in.

The town slowly considered the possibility and was taken in by the likely hood of Lawson's guilt. He argued and denied having anything to do with the attacks of course. The town voted and nearly everyone voted Deodat up the stand where he would be judged.

"You're all insane, I tell you!"

"Give it up, Lawson, we have a witness; it's no use." Claimed a citizen.

"I am the towns doctor, you here me? I save lives, not end them!" this was his last struggle in a hope of persuading the town; however, I already knew who the doctor was and it was not him. The votes were in and the majority of the town raised their hands, the only ones who didn't were those to frightened of making enemies. Deodat Lawson's death had been confirmed.

"You are all fools, fools I say! You will never catch us; I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for that old hag!"

The noose was tightened around his neck.

"The Mafia will prevail!"

And we felt a moment of security when the devil before us drew its last breathe.


	10. Chapter 8: Recipe for Organized Crime

Chapter VIII

Recipe for Organized Crime

"Do you understand why I have called you here, Ms. Dustin?"

"I am afraid I do not. However I suspect it is related to the events of today"

"Indeed, Ms. Dustin, indeed. But this is what happens when you do sloppy work; he let himself get seen – he let himself get caught. The poor fool." I paced back and forward slowly, Ms. Dustin stood up straight with her gaze fixed tightly in front of her; avoiding eye contact with me.

"He will be missed, sir."

"Missed, Ms. Dustin? Oh quite the contrary. Even if he had not been hung, I would have shot the man myself. Can't have loose ends, now can we, Ms. Dustin?" I turned to her and took a few steps closer. She did not move.

"No, sir. I supposed we can't."

"I hope Mr. Lawson's actions prove as a warning to you. For anyone who gets caught should be more afraid of what I will do them than hanging from that post." I held a pistol up to the woman's head with its barrel pressed against her ear. She remained looking straight forward without moving.

"…I understand, godfather."

"Now, back to business. As of late we have been rather shorthanded on staff. Thusly, I have decided to promote you, Ms. Dustin. I have a target assigned for you; a 'James Russel.' I trust you can handle it." I held Ms. Dustin's hand in mine, and slipped the gun from my hand to hers.

"You… want me to k-kill someone? I'm not sure if I can, godfather… setting people up is one thing, killing them is another…"

"This is a promotion, Ms. Dustin. I suggest you don't argue." She grasped the weapon in her hands and shivered at the feeling of being responsible for murder.

"Now, be gone Ms. Dustin. Get the job done."

"…Yes, godfather." She turned and exited the room in silence; my back to her.

Kill someone! Me? I can't possibly do it, but if I don't… Deodat, why did you have to go and get caught! I walked down the streets making sure to be hidden, hiding behind bushes and trees; staying well away from the obvious dirt pathways.

I approached the house of James Russel; the man I had to kill. Did I really have to take his life? Perhaps I could just warn his and force him to leave town. No. the mafia would find out, there was no way to get out of this. Either he died; or I did. I was going to become a murderer, a tainted soul. I walked slowly up the stone steps to the doorway; the door was locked twice over. No lock pick could break this, so I decided to survey the perimeter for windows or a backdoor.

I came across a window on the west side of the house, not to far above the ground. The hatches on the outside were old and rusted; I broke them off rather easily. Shimmying my way up, I hoisted one leg over the window sill and then the other. The night was so silent; the wind, so calm. Not a single sound. My feet hit the wood floor of the house's interior; just then tears formed in my eyes and I let out a small refrained scream. I looked down, a metal spring contraption filled with jagged shards had enclosed around my right foot, it bled and stung like a thousand bee stings.

"Thought you could kill me, did you?" a voice shouted, I turned to face it. There, James Russel stood in the corner of the dark room with not a light on in the house. He had predicted my attack! I felt slight anger come over me. He had bested me. I raised my arm, the gun loaded, and shot at him; it grazed his ear and struck the wall behind him in a loud crashing noise.

"You were meant to die tonight, not me!" I shouted back, he pulled out a gun from his pocket and I aimed to return fire when a bullet pierced my torso. Fallen to my knees, blood ran from my mouth; the gun in my hand fell to the floor.

"I served in a war you know; I'm not so easily killed!" another bullet struck me upon my right shoulder.

"At least…" Words were attempting to slip out of my mouth. "I can die; knowing I am not a killer..." life escaped my breath and I felt a cool breeze rush over my body.

"Retched mafia. One who incisively frames another for murder is just as guilty as the murderer himself; witch."

Staring down the barrel of a gun, my vision was fuzzy and my blood splattered the floor; I could not hear nor see. Staring back at my killer, one more bullet pierced right between my eyes.


	11. Chapter 9: Tragedy beside Relief

Chapter IX

Tragedy beside Relief

May 10th. 1692. I awoke to a loud banging on the front door. I slept rather peacefully considering my wounds. It had been the first time I had slept in my own bed in far too long, it was a nice treat. I dragged myself out from beneath the warm blankets and dragged my feet down the stairs and to the door.

I opened the door with one hand while I tried to wipe the sleep away from my eyes with the other. William Hobbs stood in the doorway with a pale, blank expression on his face. Slowly, and without greeting, he entered my home and stood in the living room.

"Morning William, is something the matter? Can I get you a cup of tea, or milk perhaps? I offered the man, however he simply sat down on the couch. I took his silence as a no, and took a seat in a chair perpendicular to him.

"Is everything alright, Hobbs?" I asked after a few moments silence. Another moment passed, William was pale and didn't make eye contact with me once, he just stared daggers at the wall. Out of nowhere, very much to my surprise, tears formed in his eyes and he immediately covered his face with his hands.

"They killed her, John. They killed Abigail." He burst into sobs and couldn't control the flow of tears. I had never known this man to be so emotional, nor have I ever seen him shed a tear.

"My God, William! That's terrible! How did this happen? When did this happen? Who would do such a thing to Abigail! She was nothing if not likeable!"

"I do not know who did this, John. I had fallen asleep early as I always do; Abigail was up late reading in the living room as she usually does. I awoke to her screaming my name; 'Help! William, help!' those are the last words I ever heard her speak. In the darkness of my room I struggled and worked my way downstairs as fast as I could, however… it was too late. There she lay in a pool of her own blood. Her eyes wide open and her arm stretched out towards me across the floor. She had attempted to run towards the stairs. The window had be smashed and the criminal had fled the scene only moments before, however I gave up any chance of chasing them in hope of saving my beloved wife's life. She had not quite been dead; I did everything in my power to stop the blood, to keep her alive. She could not make out any more words, she had lost too much blood, and moments later… she passed on. I concealed her wounds and laid a blanket overtop her… I don't know what to do John… I don't know what to do…"

I sat quietly and listened to him, I felt so bad for this man before me. I was not terribly close with Abigail but I believed her to be innocent without doubt. The poor women wouldn't have hurt a fly, let alone another human being. I didn't know how to reply, he had come to for answers I did not have.

"I know can't bring her back, but I am here for a reason, Hathorne. The other day in our discussions you told me that you used to work as a criminal investigator did you not?

He reached for one of my hands and cupped it in both of his, he looked directly at my through his tear filled eyes.

"Please, John, find whoever did this. Make them pay for it."

This is why he had come to me. In a town where he no longer had anyone left to trust, he had to turn to someone.

"You know that I'll do my best, I won't stop until I catch whoever has does this to Abigail, as well as everyone else who has been made victim to these deceiving criminals."

"Promise me, John. Please. Even if I die, find them."

"… I promise." This was a promise I wasn't sure I could keep.

Later that afternoon it had been brought to my attention that Lydia Dustin had been shot several times over the previous night, Abigail wasn't the only fatality. She was killed in James Russel's house, who claims she had broken in and carried a gun with the intent to kill him.

Thusly, I spent the majority of the afternoon investigating. I fenced off the two murder scenes and made it aware that anyone seen entering one of the two murder houses as well as Ms. Dustin's place of residence would be questioned and considered suspicious; Edward Bishop helped inforce this rule. I started with Lydia's house, where I found a mess of papers, books, binders, etc. all over the place. Her house was clean of guilty evidence, except for one piece. Out on the table, a letter of summons was left sprawled out; tucked under a few other papers of meaningless value. The summons was brief, and did not give an address or meeting place; implying she had previously known where to go. It had been effortless hidden, as if she had figured she would be home soon and could hide it away then; that not being the case. The letter was clearly suspicious, reading;

"Dustin,

I will expect you immediately. Situations have changed; I have a new assignment for you.

P.S don't even think about running.

Sincerely, the Godfather."

From this I was able to conclude that Russel's story added up, and Lydia Dustin had been associated with these crimes just as Thomas Danforth had proclaimed.

Little was to be found in Russel's home, pictures of men in uniform, war stories, novels and journals he had written, as well as war mementos. Lydia was taken away by John Proctor and Mr. Bishop when I finished my search; there was nothing suspicious to be found in his house.

I entered William's closed off house, and it pained me to enter such a dark and dreary atmosphere. Shards of glass covered the wooden flooring, light shone in through the cracks and you could see the dust in the air. In the centre of the room Abigail lay under a white sheet, the blood had been cleaned up by Will. I knew there had been nothing suspicious to find from the Hobbs' household, but I searched around anyway to clarify so the town didn't accuse William of his wife's murder.

What I wasn't expecting to find, was a note stuck to the seat of a chair. It had a stain of blood on it, which led me to believe it had been left after Abigail's murder but before William reached the living room. This had been the second interesting note I had found today, and this was all the more curious. Neatly and in cursive writing, which I believed to be written by a women's hand, the note read;

"Can you see me, through your window? What you must know is; I can see you back.

Yours truly, thy holy savior."

But what really fascinated me was the back of the page. This side had been blood splattered; the blood on the reverse side was merely a smudged thumbprint. This side contained more writing, however written so differently that the regular man would not know it was written by the same person; however my keen eye could tell. Written in 'chicken scratch' all across the page was as follows;

"YOU DID THIS TO ME HOW COULD YOU

YOU STOLE MY LIFE

HE WAS MY HUSBAND FIRST

I WILL GET YOU FOR THIS

WHY DID YOU HAVE TO RUIN EVERYTHING?"

That evening I confronted William and asked him if he had ever been married to another woman, he responded with hesitation:

"Never, I have been with Abigail my entire life."


	12. Chapter 10: One He Couldn't Befriend

Chapter X

One He Couldn't Make Friends With

The moonlight shrines through the open window, creating streaks of light across my face. I lay outstretched in the corner of my room, the wall to my bag. My arms lay sprawled across the floor, a loaded pistol grasped in my right hand. I contemplate the moon that shines down upon me, it is beautiful. A perfect night. Slowly but surely, I raise the gun to my ear; my eyes water, however no tears roll down my cheeks. In the end, I only hope it was worth it. A breath escapes my lips, and I pull the trigger.

\- Three Hours Earlier -

I have done many things in my life. I am without doubt that not all of my actions have been seen as worthy, and only the lord will be able to judge me in my final moments on this planet. Whether right or wrong, I have always fought for the greater good of this town. My past is the past, though my hands are not clean of the bloodshed that has befallen. I too, have stained my soul with the grief of murder; and I am prepared to face judgement for it. Whether or not those people who have fallen at the other end of my trigger were justly killed, I will never know. But for now, I can only assume they were.

Four people I have slain now, all suspicious and reeked of apparent guilt recognized by the citizens, I was simply the one to take the matter into my own hands. In secrecy of course, I know I would only be believed to be a murderer if the truth came out, and perhaps that is what I am; a murderer. A murderer of justice however, I seek only to free this town of the madness that has corroded this once blissful land. Even if it means getting my own hands dirty, justice must be served.

Earlier this morning I discovered a letter had been slipped under my doorframe of my front door, upon opening it I read aloud;

"Mr. Bishop,

I was hoping you would come over for some tea this evening around dusk; I ended up with an abundant amount of extra vegetables after harvest, to many to sell fast enough! I decided to make a stew, and would enjoy the company! See you tonight, your friend, John Proctor.

Obviously, this letter was suspicious beyond belief. Proctor lived across town from me, and we hardly have spoken in the last month ever since the incident. Ever since then, he has been quiet and avoided me like the plague. He hates me for what happened, I know he does. Small attempts to make me look suspicious, accusing me of acts I did or did not commit, trying to make the town see me as a serial killer. He wants revenge, but he revenge isn't justice. That is the difference between me and him, I fight for justice. Knowing full well that this was no simple invitation to dinner as long-time friends would have, would I dare attend? I wouldn't miss it.

Dusk approached and I with an empty stomach I retrieved my spring coat from the closet and set off to dinner. The sun was just setting as I walked down the street, turning the sky into a bright orange than faded into a dark purple of clouds as it reached the opposing side of the horizon. Upon reaching town square, the halfway point between Proctor's home and my own, I approached a younger girl, Alice Young, standing by watching the sunset.

"You know it's going to get awfully dark quite soon, miss. It's rather dangerous to be out at night; perhaps you should head home for the evening?" I spoke in a friendly tone, who knows what killers come out in the night.

"I am aware, thank you for your concern Mr. Bishop; I was just on my way home when I stopped to witness this beautiful sunset." She said sort of coldly, but returning the friendly gesture. I stood and watched her for a moment as she stared off at the sunset, a moment passed of silence.

"Alright then, do stay safe madam." And with that I continued on my journey. My stomach grumbled due to the prolonged supper time.

The door creaked a little as I knocked on it. Moments later I was greeted to the old familiar face of John Proctor, the local farmer.

"Greetings, Edward! Come in, come in" He greeted and invited me in. taking off my coat, I was shown to a seat by the dinner table. His house was quite nice; resembling everybody else's with that slight touch of personality. Bowls filled with stew were served across the table, the smell was enriching and my gut had been craving a meal since breakfast. The smell of the spices, the carrots and beef all brewed together was intoxicating.

"Please, enjoy." Proctor said while taking a seat across from me, retrieving a spoon and beginning to enjoy his home cooked meal.

I filled my stomach with two servings of the stew, which was delicious, but had kept a watchful eye on Proctor throughout the meal. We ate in silence, without speaking a word. After finishing, I laid down my spoon on the wooden table beside my empty bowl and crossed my arms on the table, looking directly at the man across from me.

"So, John, may I ask what I am here for? I know well enough you would never invite me over just for dinner. What's the catch?"

"You killed my brother, Edward. I know you did it."

"He was a murderer, the whole town knew it. Everyone else was just too scared to do anything about it."

"You lie! He never would have done anything like that, I knew my brother better than anyone!"

"You are blind to what is in front of you, I brought him to justice! He worked with the mafia; he deserved what was coming to him!" I stood from my chair, at this point we were shouting at each other; creating quite the ruckus.

"That is for the town to decide, not you, Bishop. Turn yourself in, give up the hero act. This act of 'Vigilante of Justice' is nothing but a fraud!"

"I have taken the lives of more murderers than any other in this town, I am the only one who can save this town if no others are prepared to act!"

"Then I shall turn you in, and you shall hang on the stand the same as any murderer should. Even if it means I must be hung first to make the town see the truth, I will help the mafia frame you if need me, I will have my revenge."

I reached into my side pocket, retrieving a silver gun that shimmered in the candlelight that lit up the room.

"You know I can't let that happen, Proctor."

"And you must know I have planned ahead with your violent ways in mind. My home is filled with countless describing how if I am to die tonight, you must surely be the killer."

"So I kill you and retriever the notes, I cannot allow someone with devious intentions to live and threaten the town." I feel quite confident in myself, I knew this would be a trap but never did I think it would be one so easy to escape.

"You will never find them all before sunrise. On top of that, I have poisoned the meal we have both just enjoyed. We both have a mere few days to live, however. If you do not turn yourself in or get caught, you will face judgement from the lord himself; this I promise you."

"You fool! You would poison yourself just to kill me? How easily you throw away your life!" I grab my stomach with my left hand as my right holds the gun pointing directly at Proctor, if his words are true then the poison is already inside of me. But where would he have gotten the poison?

"Not exactly, I grow herbs as well in my farm. One of which is a cure for the poison when brewed just right, I have disposed of all the remaining herb except for one small leaf. It is yours, if you turn yourself in and face the town's judgement as you should have long ago. If not, you die within the day and I reveal you for what you are. Option number three, you kill me and are discovered as a murderer by sunrise."

The blood begins to rush to my head; I don't know how I am to get out of this! I should have killed this man back when I did in his brother, loose ends will be the death of me. However, he was innocent at the time, but now devilish thoughts have consumed him!

"You are a murderer, Bishop."

"I fight for justice; I am not the scum who kill for power and control!"

"A murderer is a murderer, and you shall face judgement!"

Without thinking, even stopping to consider the options, my finger subconsciously pulled the trigger. A loud, yet familiar, exploding noise rang out and the man across the table from me bent over to the ground, blood gushing from his chest. What now? I searched the body for the antidote, he was smart enough not keep it on him. Another victim on my list, was he justly killed? I cannot tell anymore. Surely he was, was he not? I only kill for justice! These thoughts comfort me. Snooping around the house I realize he was right, there are hundreds of notes hidden in every corner of the house, I will never find them all. I have been bested, I realize this now. I am doomed to die soon, with all the blood of my victims on my hand. Slowly, taking one last look at my final victim sprawled across the floor; I exit the house and begin the walk home, cold wind biting at my skin.


	13. Chapter 11: Falling Apart

Chapter XI

Falling Apart

The entire town, at least what is left of it, gathered once more in town square. It was May 11th, and at this point we all knew there was no escaping this madness. The town had fallen apart, only six citizens remained alive, and that was hardly enough to even call ourselves a town anymore. One, two, perhaps more of even none of us had the intent to kill off the rest. William is the only one I know I can trust; I don't doubt his intentions or feelings toward the killers for an instant.

All of us stood around town square, William and I in our own little group separate from the others. Mary Eastey and Alice Young sat on a bench chatting. Eastey doing all the talking of course, she was much more outgoing and the take-charge kind of a person compared to Young, who was shy and often fidgety. James Russel and Giles Corey stood nearby, Russel with his arms crossed, he had gone all morning without a drink and it was obvious he craved one. Corey stood with his hands in his jacket; he was much older and stared fixated on something, what it was I could not tell. Both men were quite intimidating. Russel did the talking in there small group, Giles Corey looked quite annoyed or simply couldn't care less. The topic of conversation, however, was the same in each group. Edward Bishop and John Proctor both died last night; I inspected both scenes and have a reasonable idea of what happened last night.

The notes scattered across Proctor's house show he was concerned about being harmed last night while Bishop was in his house, obviously he had reason to as Bishop confessed to it later; as well as all signs lead to him doing it. In a journal on Bishop's night stand, he explained most the events of last night, and how he had been threatened. He also explained how he has killed in the past, and his reasons for doing so. Whether or not he was justified, was not for me to say. Bishop returned home after his final kill, and shot himself over grief. Simple as that really, but I personally wish they could have fought it out in a way that didn't result in two casualties; we need every town member to find this mystery murderer, who must still be out there.

Besides that, no murder seemed to happen last night due to our typical psychopath. Out of our final numbers, William Hobbs I believed to be innocent, he was a respectable doctor. James Russel was a bar tender, who apparently served in a war a long time ago. He had been attacked by the murderers recently, so I think he is less suspicious; but has no proof to clear his name. Mary Eastey was also previously attacked, leading me to suspect her less for the same reasons. Giles Corey and Alice Young however, I know very little about and, as of now, are my top suspects.

I attempted to search Giles' house last night for clues, however the house was securely locked. When I moved on and tried Alice's home, I could hear her moving around inside for the majority of the night. Whether she is unable to sleep due to the stress, or whatever the reason, it was unsafe to investigate. Getting myself caught would only make myself appear to be the killer.

The majority of the afternoon passed as people simply talked about random things, on and off the conversation of death. No one was willing to come forward, we had all simple accepted we may be talking to a murderer. Yet none of us steeped as low as to beg each other for our lives; and none worthlessly blamed someone else when they had no proof. Slowly people started to move on with their lives, drink there evenings away at the bar. Trying to forget, knowing it may be there last night alive but not caring anyway. The death surrounding us all has been mesmerizing. It's hard to believe all our friends we once knew are gone; our world around us has slowly been falling apart. I joined them at the bar, drinking my problems away. Not too much to take my wits from me, just enough to take the edge off. It's a sad life when you wonder who of the people around you will be dead by morning.


	14. Chapter 12: Deep Regret

Chapter XII

Deep Regret

The clock struck ten, and everyone had left the bar already. It was dark out, stars shone in the night sky already. I cleaned up the mess slowly, pondering life in the back of my mind. Spilt beer and empty mugs to be washed scattered across the bar. I had worked here for over twenty years now. I moved to this town for a new beginning, I lost nearly all of my friends in a war. Those who lived with me, I couldn't stand to look at anymore. War had changed them, and their faces… they brought back to many memories. Life was good here, for the longest time. Peaceful, a small city where everyone got along. A paradise as if it came right out of a story book, where everyone was pleasant and knew each other. The chaos, though, has brought that paradise to rubble.

I stacked the dishes in the sink, mopped the floor, and left the rest until morning. The counter was a disaster, but it was late and I required my sleep. Sleep I was not going to get anyway. The stress affected us all greatly, some nights I would be unable to sleep, doomed to stay awake and have horrible war flashback. The events of murder brought back these memories only too easily. Staying on high alert all night, I would set traps in my home. Often just sitting in the corner of my Living room, with the darkness across my face, a gun in my hands, and a cigar between my lips.

The night was warm, a pleasant stroll down the street to my home. It was convenient living so close to work. Retrieving the key from my coat pocket, I unlocked the door and walked inside. The small fireplace was going, lighting up the room with its flickering blaze. My most comfortable chair which I usually sat in to eat breakfast had been turned to face the fire, its back directly to me at the doorstep. Somebody sat in my chair.

"Good evening, Mr. Russel. Quite a nice home you have here, isn't it?"

Immediately recognizing the voice, I should have suspected I would be a target for killing that last intruder. My gun though, I had left it in a desk drawer close to the door at which I stood.

"It's quite a mess, if you ask me, Giles. Are you here to kill me? Did I upset your order, by killing that scum of yours before? I should have known it was you, who else could run an organized group of crime."

The man stood up from my chair and turned towards me, the light of the fire to his back made his face dark and hard to see. I could still make out the features however; he glared at me with a look that shot daggers.

"Always right to the point aren't you, James? I had hoped we could have a cup of tea first, or a nice conversation. Perhaps even do business together; I know you have the instinct to kill."

"I would never work for you, Giles Corey, if you aren't the devil I don't know who is. The trouble you have caused this town is maddening."

"That's quite a shame, Russel. The mafia could always use more loyal members."

"Oh please, you are probably all out of rats to do your bidding for you by now! For all I know, you are the last of the filthy mafia in this town and I should end you right now!"

Giles wore a long grey coat that went down to his knees, in his right hand I could spot a gun; he raised it to me.

"Even if I were to die, the mafia grows large even outside of this pitiful town. My members would consume it; we take what we want!"

I dove to the desk, landing hard on my knees. A loud gunshot signified that he had shot at me, although I did not appear to be hurt. Reaching up with my right hand I opened the drawer and retrieved the gun, it was already loaded. Laying down on my back still, I rolled and aimed the gun at him, shooting as quickly as I can but not as quick as to be hit by him first; I shouted as I pulled the trigger;

"If that had been true you would have taken the town by force rather than in the shadows!"

The bullet pierced my thigh, while my returning fire just barely hit his right shoulder. He clenched it with his left hand and swore at me.

"What would have been though fun in that? You have no idea what the mafia is capable of!"

He fired once more, the bullet pierced my lung and I coughed blood across the floor. I was never going to stand up from this floor again. My hands went limp and my gun hit the floor. He swore at me once more as my life slipped away. Thinking he had killed me, he lowered his weapon to his side.

"Say hello to the rest of your town in hell for me, Russel."

He began to walk toward the door, and having let his guard down to a dead man I retrieved my gun and shot him directly through the heart. My life slipped away as I watched him fall over on the ground, cursing me. My blood spilled across the hard wood flooring, and I attempted to curse him back but was unable to make out the words. The thought is what really counts though. In my final moments, I thought I heard someone scream far off in the distance, the scream of an angel; perhaps.


	15. Chapter 13: Bittersweet

Chapter XIII

Bittersweet

The sun rose, lighting up our hellish lives. No sleep had been obtained last night, only restlessness. The past few months have been stressful ones, staying up late, investigating, and sneaking in and out of houses for clues. But now, finally, I knew who had done it all.

James Russel had been murdered in his house last night, the killer, Giles Corey. If not for other events, I would have believed that the killer had finally been caught, and we would be free. However, that is not the case. Mary Eastey was also found dead in her home. All the gear and bullet-proof vests could not protect her from the countless stab wounds she received. Leaving only William Hobbs, Alice Young, and myself as the only survivors; it was quite evident who the killer was.

William and I sat in town square with Alice Young, she was fidgety and seemed afraid as if the world were out to get her. I explained to William my findings;

"The note left by Abigail when she was found dead lead us to believe the killer is female, using words like 'he was mine first' and so on, however, I am able to confirm my findings through my investigations last night. Noticing her house was quiet, I snuck in to Ms. Young's home. Everything seemed normal and nothing was out of place, until I found the closet. It was dark in her house; I could not turn on any lights or risk being found. But nothing could mistake for that horrible stench that attacked my nose. Inside the small walk in closet, just barely in the darkness, I could make out the forms of human beings. Rotting, blood stained the dark walls and clung to my nostrils, it was retched. On a small table in the middle of the closet was a sharp knife, previously cleaned. The murder weapon." I did not wish to know which of my friends lay in that horrible witch house. I did not want to know. The thought of it killed me inside.

So many of our companions had been lost. Our town had been destroyed. And now knowing who had caused us all such pain, I could see the anger boiling in William's eyes. He kept a straight face, but now came the moment of truth.

With struggles and screams, we dragged Alice to the hanging post. She was to share the same fate as all those before her; it was only fair. Justice had to be served. She was clearly out of her mind. She screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks. Crying out for brothers, sisters, and family we did not know existed or not. With the noose around her neck, my heart raced as if it were going to explode. Right here, right now, we were going to avenge all those who had been unjustly killed. However, something still did not feel right; I felt as if I was going to be sick.

In her last moments, the young women cried out for her child. A lost child. She wanted to know the child was safe, begged for it. To hear these screams, it brought tears to my eyes. It had all been clear to me now, however it did not appear to be clear at all to Alice. She had killed her own child. The young girl who we had buried several months ago, the beginning of this chaos. She was completely unaware; Alice's mind must have completely shut out all logic after the death of her child. The reasons of why this woman, this witch, would kill her own child, escaped me. I would never know, nor did I want to know. For reasons I didn't even know myself, as tears rolled down my cheeks, I shouted back, not at the embodiment of evil and murder that resides within her, but at Alice Young's soul.

"Your child will be taken care of!" I screamed. Hoping to give her some sort of reassurance in the afterlife. With that, William kicked the chair from beneath her feet, screaming horrible curses at his wife's murderer. Struggling to escape the inevitable, kicking and screaming, Alice slowly went silent; and the evil within her released its grip on her young soul. A moment passed, neither of us moved or said anything. The only noise was the wind that caused the girl's body to slowly rock back and forward. A single thought from my mind came up, "finally," I whispered, "we are free."


	16. Chapter 14: Aftermath

Chapter XIV

Aftermath

The town was silent. No, it was not even a town anymore. William and I stand quietly in town square, looking up at the form a witch has taken as it hangs.

"Thank you, for helping to find the killer, John Hathorne. Thank you for being a friend throughout all of this."

He speaks to me quietly; we both stare at the hanging corpse and never look each other in the eyes.

"It was my pleasure… William Hobbs." I reply. More silence sweeps over, and several minutes go by without any words.

"You know, if a few months ago, someone had ever come up to me and asked if this were a dangerous town, I would have said without a doubt that this town is safer and friendlier than any other." William said, breaking the silence. It is true, Salem used to be a very peaceful town. Soon, people would arrive here, travellers, or anyone really; and discover it has been abandoned. William and I talked, hours passed, we did not move from our places even though our legs grew wary. We talked about the past, our friends we once knew. How our lives had changed so much.

"I'm just glad… that I could have lived to see revenge for my beloved wife…" William said, I could sense the sadness in his voice.

"It's all over now William, we are free to move on." I said, trying to comfort him a little, although I knew he had no plans of moving on after this.

Without looking over, I could see in the corner of my eye as he reached into his pocket and retrieved something in his hands. It was silver; he raised it to his ear slowly and glittered in the sunlight as the sun began to set. It would be dusk soon.

"Thank you, John, for being someone I could trust." And before I could reply back, a loud gunshot went off and my friend fell to the ground beside me. More tears rolled down my face. I myself was not sure if I wanted to move on.

Slowly, I walked over to a pile of wooden boards leaning next to a shop by town square. Retrieving a knife from my pocket, the knife I took from Alice's home, the knife used to kill so many people, I inscribed a single word, letter after letter, into a hard wooden board that was attached to a pole; to be a sign. Walking over to the hanging post where the woman still hangs, I planted the sign deep in the ground.

The sign simply read; "Witch".

I stared at it for a few moments, I was alone now. Dusk fell, but I didn't care. i laid the knife down on the ground, and with nothing but my coat and boots with me, I left the town and never looked back.

I buried my friend next to the river that supplied us all with water that kept us alive. Walking away, I took the first step in moving on with my life.


	17. Inspiration

Inspiration;

This short story is entirely inspired by the modern game "Town of Salem" and is dedicated thusly, as well as to those who lived in the era or were falsely accused of witchcraft in Salem, Massachusetts. The names of the characters are used entirely from the game, while some of them being real people's names. Credit of the investigator John Hathorne is all dedicated to the "Hanging judge" (A.K.A the real John Hathorne) and Alice Young based off of Dorothy Talbye and Alice Young, those who were accused of witchcraft. Thomas Danforth, Abigail, William, and any others, were all real people, however I used their names from the game in mind and not at all based on the people they actually were.


	18. History

History;

Salem, located at the mouth of the Naumkeag river at the site of an ancient Native American village and trading center, was first settled by Europeans in 1626. The name of the settlement, Salem, is a hellenized form of the word for "peace" in Hebrew.

One of the most widely known aspects of Salem is its history of witchcraft allegations, which in many popular accounts started with Abigail Williams, Betty Parris, and their friends playing with a Venus glass (mirror) and egg.

Salem is also significant in legal history as the site of the **Dorothy Talbye** trial, where a mentally ill woman was hanged for murdering her daughter, because at the time Massachusetts made no distinction between insanity and criminal behavior. The story of the girls in Salem experimenting with fortune-telling is, however, apocryphal.[30]

William Hathorne's son, Judge **John Hathorne** , came to prominence in the late 17th century. People generally believed witchcraft to be real. Nothing caused more fear in the Puritan community than people who appeared to be possessed by demons, and witchcraft was a serious felony. Judge Hathorne is the best known of the witch trial judges, and he became known as the "Hanging Judge" for sentencing witches to death.

The following is the list of the 12 persons who were executed for witchcraft in New England before 1692, when 24 other persons were executed at Salem, whose names are well known. It is possible that the list is not complete.

1647, — "Woman of Windsor," Connecticut (name unknown) **[later identified as Alice Young]** , at Hartford.

1648, — Margaret Jones, of Charlestown, at Boston.

1648, — Mary Johnson, at Hartford.

1650? — Henry Lake's wife, of Dorchester.

1650? — Mrs. Kendall, of Cambridge.

1651, — Mary Parsons, of Springfield, at Boston.

1651, — Goodwife Bassett, at Fairfield, Conn.

1653, — Goodwife Knap, at Hartford.

1656, — **Ann Hibbins** , at Boston.

1662, — Goodman Greensmith, at Hartford.

1662, — Goodwife Greensmith, at Hartford.

1688, — Goody Glover, at Boston."


End file.
